


Intervention

by HoopyFrood



Series: Possibilities [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Making Up, Male-Female Friendship, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:39:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: Selina’s had enough.





	1. Chapter 1

Selina gracefully moves around Oswald’s office, fingertips gently ghosting over various trinkets, around photo frames and down the spines of books. Oswald’s at his desk, painstakingly going over the details of an upcoming event he’s hosting at The Iceberg Lounge in a few days. All of Gotham’s criminal elite will be there and it’s paramount it goes off without a hitch. Selina doesn’t particularly care about the specifics, but it should prove to be a profitable night if she can wrangle a way in.

“I bumped into a mutual friend today,” she says, peering closely at Oswald’s old Arkham release certificate. She snorts lightly under her breath at the diagnosis. Sane. _Sure_.

Oswald hums slightly in acknowledgement to show that he’s still listening but doesn’t look up, too busy triple checking his guest list.

“Total dork, penchant for riddles,” she continues conversationally. “Somehow ended up as Chief of Staff to the Mayor of this godawful city”.

Oswald’s hand stills briefly before continuing to scribble across crisp paper, though perhaps a little harder than before. “And you think I care, why?”

Selina blinks dumbly for a couple of seconds before collapsing into the plush chair in front of Oswald’s desk, peals of laughter wracking her slight frame. Oswald purses his lips into an annoyed line as she slaps her thigh theatrically.

“Wow,” she says once calming down and sweeps her curls out of her face to reveal flushed cheeks. “Thank you for _that_. He asked after you.”

“How nice,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“I know, right?” She agrees, smiling widely, and lifts her legs up onto Oswald’s desk, crossing them at the ankles. Oswald eyes her boots in obvious distaste but doesn’t tell her to put them down. “By the way, are you still seeing that guy? Mike?” She ventures innocently.

“ _Mark_ , and no. I received some information that an assassination attempt was imminent. Put a bullet between his eyes at dinner that very night,” Oswald shares easily as if simply commenting on the weather. “Made a real mess of my fine china.”

“Sorry,” Selina allows tentatively. He doesn’t seem upset; posture still relatively relaxed, no tell-tale colour high on his cheeks that usually indicates screaming is imminent.

Oswald waves his free hand dismissively. “Don’t be. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“It never is,” she says under her breath as she casually inspects the deep red of her nails.

Oswald finally lays down his pen and gives her his full attention. He links his hands and rests his chin on them. “And what exactly are you implying?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she says placatingly. “Just, well, isn’t it about time you moved on? Properly, I mean.”

 _Now_ he’s upset. Back suddenly ram-rod straight, jaw clenched. Luckily there’s nothing particularly heavy or sharp within reaching distance that can be thrown in petulant anger. Not that he’d manage to get her, that is. He’s never been a match for her cat-like reflexes.

“Because it’s not like you don’t mess that poor Wayne boy around enough,” he bites back defensively, vicious and cutting.

She drops her legs down from their perch, feet hitting the floor with a dull thump. “Hey! That is not f—”

Oswald raises an eyebrow at her protests.

“Yeah, okay, you got me there,” she relents. She likes Bruce, really, it’s just. Well. It’s _complicated_. She shifts in her seat, embarrassed by the personal jibe and the bitter sting of truth behind it.

Oswald lets her suffer for a few more seconds before sighing and letting his shoulders sag, the fight visibly draining out of him.

“There was nothing to move on from, Selina,” Oswald says eventually, the _‘I wish there had been’_ left unsaid, the words careful and considered as if the situation _isn’t so much more_.

“So you’re just going to keeping pining away for him?” She asks sharply before she can stop herself. They’ve always had childish pettiness in common. “Even though he turned you down? Even though he left?”

Oswald splutters and surges up to his feet, hands braced on his desk for support. “How _dare_ you!” He screeches, face slowly turning a blotchy red before her very eyes.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Selina counters, flying up from her own seat to mirror him. “We may not be particularly close but I do actually consider you a friend, Oswald. You’ve helped me out countless times and I never forget the people who have been good to me. I’m just concerned, is all.”

A short, uncomfortable silence born of candid openness descends. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks ominously and the sound of a muffled conversation moves past Oswald’s door, briefly loud then quieter and quieter until nothing.

“Then I appreciate the thought, I suppose,” he says unsurely, as if someone caring about him is _still_ a totally foreign concept. It’s only gotten worse since Ed left. As if any progress he'd made over the years was suddenly irrelevent.

“This information you got about Mike,” she begins, purposefully gentler this time.

“ _Mark_ ,” he reiterates again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the beginnings of headache spikes at his temple.

“Mark, fine, whatever. Where did you get it from?”

She follows him with her eyes as he walks over to an oak side cabinet and pours out a glass of bourbon from a crystal decanter, his movements those of someone who drinks too often and too much, as if on auto-pilot.

“Barbara if you _must_ know.”

“And how did she find out?” Selina presses.

Oswald blinks and swirls around the glass in thought. “I don’t see why that matters. Barbara and I have an understanding. But to answer your question, I don’t know.”

Now or never. She takes a deep breath. “It was me, I told her.”

Oswald lowers the glass from his mouth with a frown. “Well how utterly redundant. You could have just come to me yourself. But I’ll transfer some money into one of your accounts as a thank you.”

Selina blinks in surprise. Oh. That’s actually rather sweet. “And I found out from Ed, you _moron_ ,” she finally admits with forced exasperation, trying to disguise just how irritatingly touched she is by the offer.

He fumbles with the glass, some of the golden liquid sloshing over the sides and onto his hands. “What do you mean you got it from Ed?”

“He pulled off a job a few weeks ago on a group your _Mark_ was involved with. Overheard them laughing about how he totally had you wrapped around his little finger, how it wouldn’t be long before you were, and I quote, ‘taken care of’. He tracked me down and said to get word to you through as many different channels as possible so it wouldn’t get back to him.”

Oswald has covered his mouth, eyes impossibly wide.

“Couldn’t be bothered with all that nonsense so I went straight to Babs instead,” she continues. “I do have my own life, after all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Oswald,” she says with a soft, tired exhale. “I don’t think he even knows _how_ to.”

“He-,” he begins before clearing his throat. “He could have come to me.”

“Yeah, no. Not when you’re doing everything in your power to completely cut him out of your life.”

“I saw him last month, thank you very much,” he replies petulantly, thinking back to when he needed Ed’s expertise on a particularly dangerous concoction of chemicals that his boys had caught being smuggled into the city. “And it was distinctly awkward to say the least.”

“Maybe it was,” Selina agrees. “But ever thought you may be the one making it awkward in the first place?”

He opens his mouth to argue but immediately shuts it again and frowns, looking off to the side.

Moving closer to him, she unwraps his fingers from the glass and lifts it to her lips to take a sip. The bourbon burns on the way down and she only barely restrains a cough. How he drinks this stuff daily she’ll never know.

“Oh, and just so you know, seeing as we’re getting everything out in the open here. That tip-off about the new transport route the Gotham Art Institute has started using? Ed. That gorgeous new cane that turned up after you broke yours during that skirmish with Denetto? Ed. The witnesses to that deal you made a few days ago? Oh yeah, there weren’t any, because _Ed took care of them_.”

She drops the now empty glass heavily onto the polished surface, resulting in an immediate gauge in the expensive wood. She moves the glass over it to hide it from view. Oswald’s too busy pacing up and down, chewing furiously at his bottom lip, to notice.

“Well, I tried,” she says with a shrug. She pops the collar on her leather jacket. “Just thought you deserved to have the whole picture. Whatever you decide to do now is up to you. Later.”

She turns to leave, purposely going slower than she normally would, waiting for him to call her back.

“Selina, wait.”

She smiles to herself before swinging back around. She crosses her arms and leans her hip against the door frame. 

“You see him often, yes?”

“More than I’d like, if we’re being brutally honest. Loves bothering me on the job. Thinks it’s _hilarious_ ,” she shares with a roll of her eyes.

With a nod, he rips open his desk draw and rummages around, cursing under his breath as he does. Once clearly finding what he is looking for, he scribbles something down onto it and limps over to Selina, pushing it into her hands. It’s an invitation; black with beautiful embossed silver lettering.

“Just tell him…” He struggles for words. “Just tell him he’s under no obligation to come but I’d enjoy his company. There are clearly a few things I need to thank him for.”

“I’m not your errand girl,” she points out with a slight pout.

“Please, Selina," he pleads earnestly, _desperately_.

“Fine,” she eventually relents with a put-upon sigh to make it seem like she's doing him a favour she'd really rather not and slips the invitation into the inside of her jacket. “But only as long as I can come, too.”

“You can’t, it’s just for a very select few—” He abruptly cuts himself off and throws his hands up in the air. “You know what? _Fine_ , yes. Now go.”

She grins, mischief lighting up her eyes, and punches him in the arm. He frowns and rubs the tender spot, suddenly looking just like he did when she was younger. When she had to look up at him and not down. Yuck, she actually feels _fond_.

“Look, it _sucks_ he doesn’t feel the same, I totally get that, but the two of you had a good thing going on. Don’t throw that away. What is it you used to say? Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light?” She leans over and gently pokes him in the forehead, right between his eyebrows. “Listen to your own advice for a change.”

He bats away her finger, but it’s half-hearted. “Maybe you’re right,” he concedes, not sounding at all happy about it.

She scoffs. “Er, excuse me? I’m always right,” she says with offence. There’s a small smile threatening to spill across his lips and she has to tamper down her own at the sight of it. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got an outfit to put together.”

“Make sure it’s classy,” he says to her just before she closes the door. “And free of cat hair!”

Outside in the hallway, she gently rests her hand over where the invitation is concealed. Two birds with one stone, she thinks smugly.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s just as lavish as Selina had anticipated.

Oswald never lets The Iceberg Lounge look anything other than stylish in a very deliberately expensive way, but when he’s hosting for the sole reason of impressing someone into either a lucrative business partnership or a mutually beneficial criminal relationship, he really pulls out all of the stops. The finest musicians poached from Metropolis’ Little Bohemia, the best food, the most competent staff; all framed by ice blues and clean whites. Glass, chrome, _diamond_. Oswald’s taste has always been impeccable.

She feels numerous beady eyes on her as she walks through the sea of people, hot and piercing on the small of her back, some even lower than that. She smirks to herself and adds more of a sway to her hips. Ivy was right all those years ago; men can’t resist a pretty face. They’re so hilariously predictable. But where’s the fun in having a love-struck fool handing you everything on a silver platter? It doesn’t get her heart pumping, her palms sweaty. Not in the same way deftly slipping a hand into a pocket does, at least.

Her heels clink against the polished floor as she makes her way over to the bar. She orders a cosmopolitan, deciding to go for something traditionally feminine to fit her MO for the night and that won’t make her lightheaded. It’s important to stay focused. You can always act tipsy if necessary, but it’s harder to fake being sober.

Delicately taking it in hand, she swivels around on the stool to scout out the floor. There’s lots of choice tonight, but in some ways makes it more difficult. It’s easy to head confidently in the direction of the richest person in the room when everyone else is relatively irrelevant, but when _everyone’s_ rich and powerful and dangerous, well, then you’ve got to set up a hierarchy system. Decide if jewellery is better than cash, if information is better than jewellery. That sort of thing.

She’s silently cataloguing each potential target when, across the room, a touch taller than many of those around him and sticking out like a sore thumb, she sees Ed. He looks smarter than he has in a long time, his suit the sort he used to wear when Oswald was playing Mayor; tailored impeccably to compliment the long lines of his body. He wouldn’t seem too out of place to the average person, his scrunched brow and darting eyes merely the expression of someone who can’t find the friends they’re meant to be meeting or the date they’ve lost in the crowd. But Selina knows better. Knows _him_. Their eyes meet and the uncomfortable expression on his face drains away with relief.

She watches in growing horror as he begins to make his way towards her, awkwardly pushing people out of the way with those gangly limbs of his. A man tries to draw him into conversation, his eyes lighting up in recognition upon seeing him, and catches him by the arm to stop him from escaping. The majority of Oswald’s contacts are also Ed’s, after all, so it makes sense that Ed knows most, if not all, the people here tonight. He appears to apologise profusely, probably promising to come find him later, and continues on his way. She groans in annoyance and turns back to the bar. Maybe if she just ignores him—

“Thank God you’re here,” he says in a rush as he all but collapses onto the stool next to her. She notices a man a couple of seats down sit back down and put away his wallet, clearly having been on his way over to buy her a drink. Great.

“You’re cramping my style,” she hisses.

“What?”

He takes the opportunity to clinically look her over; the form fitting dress, the impossibly high heels, her red, red lips.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” she repeats with a roll of her eyes.

“You look nice?” He offers.

“Gee, thanks, Eddie,” she says. “But _you’re_ not who I’m trying to impress here.”

“Please don’t, I feel queasy enough as it is.”

She can’t help a snort of amusement from escaping and he grins widely in response, already more at ease.

“Queasy, huh? There’s no need to be nervous,” she answers instead. “It’s not like you’ve turned up unannounced. He’s the one that invited you.”

She didn’t deliver the invitation to Ed straight away, instead waiting until the following weekend to track him down. Ed’s never been particularly hard to find, at least for her anyway, but that’s probably down to Ed _allowing_ himself to be found in the first place. If he wanted to disappear, drop off the map completely, Selina’s sure he’d be able to. And it’d be months before they’d all realise.

She told him that Oswald had merely asked her to pass along the invitation and nothing more. Luckily, he didn’t question why, too blindsided by Oswald seeking him out for something other than his help in a purely professional capacity.

“And that’s exactly why I’m on edge. What suddenly changed?”

“Maybe he found out what you were doing,” she suggests innocently.

“Doubtful,” he states with his usual brand of unconscious arrogance. “I covered my tracks to the very last detail.”

For an intelligent man, Ed can be incredibly stupid sometimes.

Selina watches him as he looks round, taking in every little detail of the club. “I’ve missed this place,” he says with a small, warm smile.

“You’re still part owner though, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” he reveals. “Just don’t have much of a hands-on approach anymore. Anything we need to discuss is usually done over the phone. Otherwise he just sends me whatever happens to need my signature.”

“Pretty sweet deal if you ask me. You get to have a stake in the place financially _and_ some level of input, all without having to do any of the dirty work.”

“I never minded,” he admits. “Was it hard getting the place up and running, making it into what it is now? Of course, but God if it wasn’t worth it. But more than that it was, well, it was _fun_.”

Selina remembers The Iceberg Lounge in its formative years. Nothing like it is now, of course, but still special in its own way. Less polished but brimming with potential. She always felt like she could be _herself_ there. But that wasn't what either of them truly wanted it to be. They didn't want it to be the go-to spot for low level criminals. They wanted more, wanted a _name_ , and Selina couldn't begrudge them that, not now.

“Surprised he didn’t try to cut you out, considering.”

“Well, first of all, those documents are airtight. I should know, I drafted them. So part of me would’ve liked to see him try. Secondly,” he trails off, face going all soft in the way it often does when he’s about to say something sappy. “When he was pushing to dissolve our… acquaintance, he made a point of saying he’d never under any circumstances take the club away from me.”

Selina can picture Oswald so easily in that moment. Embarrassed and sad and _tired_ , but still defiant. Forcing himself to look Ed in the eye all the while wanting to curl up into a ball and forget about putting his feelings out into the world. A surge of pride blooms in her chest. It must have taken a lot of guts.

“Pretty sure that was him admitting just how much he _didn’t_ want you to leave.”

“Believe me, I know,” he says with a groan and wiggles two fingers under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But it was obvious me being there was making him uncomfortable. There was nothing I could say or do to make it easier for him so, in the end, I just went along with whatever he wanted.”

“That man wrote the book on self-sabotage,” she mutters and Ed hums in agreement.

Suddenly, without warning, he grabs her by the arm. “There he is.”

“Jesus Christ, Ed,” she curses more in surprise than anything else and rips herself away, almost tipping off the stool before quickly righting herself again.

He holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry.”

But he’s right; Oswald’s appeared on the other side of the room. Schmoozing like he was born to, kissing cheeks and laughing loudly. Ironically, it’s something he only fully perfected after losing his Mayorship. The lack of having to appear above board did him wonders in the long run.

“He looks well,” Ed mutters.

“Bet he looks even better up close,” she says, silently urging him to go. Not that he’s ever been able to take a hint, that is.

“Am I hurting him, doing this?” he asks. “Wanting to be part of his life even though I don’t feel—”

“Definitely.”

He whips his head around to look at her, pain etched into every line and crease.

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. It’ll hurt him even more decades down the line when he realises he pushed you away for no goddamn reason,” she states simply. “When he’s succeeded in isolating himself completely.”

Ed sighs. “I just miss my best friend.”

“I know but, Eddie,” she begins and turns to him, “you do realise things won’t magically go back to how they were if he _does_ decide he wants to try and rebuild your friendship, though, right?” 

“Of course,” he agrees, but it looks as if it physically pains him to admit. She'd go in for a stealthy hug if they weren't in public so has to settle for a pat on his knee instead.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. It’ll be difficult, sure, but that doesn’t mean you both won’t end up coming out stronger in the end.”

"Yeah?"

She nods firmly, curls bouncing around her rouged cheeks. “You’re better together. I know that, you know that, _he knows_ that.”

“Batman would disagree,” he says with a crooked smirk. She laughs. That's definitely in the running for Understatement of the Century.

“All the more reason,” she adds and they share a smile born from years of surprise friendship and shared experiences.

Standing up, Ed pulls down his blazer from the bottom to smooth out where it had bunched up round his hips. “Right, let’s do this.”

Selina half-heartedly raises her glass in a silent toast; already back to watching the room. She manages to squash down a small jolt of shock when Ed unexpectedly leans in close.

“Sebastian Delgano,” he says, voice pitched lower so only she can hear. “Recently divorced, lonely, and _loaded_. Really into motor racing, owns Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Currently trying and failing to chat up a blonde woman way out of his league over by the fountain.”

She grins widely into her drink. “Thanks.”

“Good luck, street trash girl.”

“You too, forensics guy.”

He spends a couple more seconds just collecting himself with a few deep breaths before straightening his back and heading over to Oswald with long, confident strides.

Intrigued, Selina allows herself a little bit longer as just _Selina_ before finally slipping into _Catwoman_ for the rest of the night. After all, she may as well see this through to the end now. 

She leans back on her elbows against the bar top surface and gets comfortable. Oswald’s just finished greeting another guest when Ed makes it to him. He flinches slightly, but stays facing him, chin cocked up. Ed looks nervous again, probably not even realising he’s hunching his shoulders, until Oswald tentatively holds out a hand, that is. Ed immediately takes it, face lighting up. Oswald matches it with something a little dimmer, but no less sincere, no less hopeful.

Yeah, they’ll be alright, she thinks as she downs the rest of her cosmopolitan and heads over to the fountain.


End file.
